


Defining Inaccurate Realities

by pollybywater



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollybywater/pseuds/pollybywater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapped again, Blair frees himself, Jim - and his kidnapper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defining Inaccurate Realities

## Defining Inaccurate Realities

#### by Polly Bywater

Author's website: <http://www.geocities.com/polly_bywater/index.html>  
The characters are not mine, but the story is.  
Uploaded by Wordwitch, who was impatient.  
For Ellen, who wanted Hero!Alpha!Blair!, and with thanks to my friend Yellowrose for the weapon of choice - if it worked on her ex it should work on the bad guy, eh? This story originally appeared in 'Come to your Senses' #28 but has been revised somewhat since then.  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

_The Guide is definitive._  
 _Reality is frequently inaccurate._

\--Douglas Adams  
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe 

_"Hoayna Qapaq, you must awaken," Blair heard as if from a distance. He felt drugged, tired, and unwilling to answer that strange voice, but the choice was taken out of his hands when something warm and wet began scrubbing across his face._

_"Shit!" he yelped, coming to terrified consciousness and lunging backwards in the same instant that he opened his eyes, catching sight of the honking huge wolf that was licking his face. It took him a few seconds to realize he was on the spirit plane and that was his spirit guide, and a few more seconds after that to see Incacha looking at him with humor lighting those deep brown eyes. "God! Scare me to death, why don't you!" he huffed irritably, amused despite himself when the wolf and Incacha exchanged long-suffering glances._

_"Had I not awakened you, Hoayna Qapaq, death would be certain, for you and your Sentinel," Incacha scolded gently. Blair felt the warning like a blow to his gut, and jumped to stand, barely noticing the blue tinted jungle all around them._

_"What's going on?"_

_"That is for you to determine. We have done what we came to do. Be well with Enqueri, my brother," Incacha said and vanished, leaving Blair squinting his eyes while the material world solidified around him._

"Shit," he said again as he took in the reality of his surroundings, abruptly aware of how crappy he felt, stomach queasy and head aching. He was lying on a damp hardwood floor, in what looked like a walk-in closet or pantry, and the nauseating motion that he'd first assumed was inside his own skull was his first clue that they were on some kind of boat. His hands were cuffed behind his back and his feet were duct taped together. 

The room - cabin? - was dim, kept from absolute darkness by the faint glare of an emergency light over the closed door. Blair shifted over to his other side and was horrified to see Jim lying a few feet away, cuffed and taped as he was. 

For the life of him, Blair couldn't remember how they'd gotten into this mess...but that wasn't important. What mattered was getting out of it. 

He scooted, rolled and squirmed over to Jim's side, relieved to find Jim was breathing evenly and had no obvious injuries - at least, no blood, bruises or protruding bones. Jim's face was pale, eyelashes dark against fine-grained skin. Blair sighed as that familiar surge of admiration/love/longing/need/hunger/fear/regret/sorrow worked its way through him. Then he dismissed it all, burying it deep, like he always did. 

In the year since the dissertation had imploded like a plutonium-cored bomb, there'd been a lot of changes in Blair's life. Berkshire Publishing and Rainier University had both settled out of court, due to a bulldog attorney friend of Simon's. Blair had gotten his doctorate after all, albeit _not_ with the Sentinel diss, and he'd also taken the firearms courses at the police academy like Simon wanted. His reputation had been pretty well cleared thanks to a press conference that the chief of police had held, thanking him for publicly falling on his sword in order to help the Cascade PD apprehend Klaus Zeller. Now, he was employed by the Cascade PD as a doctor of anthropology, a consultant. He taught a few classes a semester at the academy, and filled the rest of his hours with the same type of gopher/profiler/researcher work he'd always done when he wasn't in the field with Jim; only he was paid much better now. 

Some things hadn't changed, though. He still felt that same helpless devotion to Jim Ellison that he'd been feeling for years, and Jim still treated him like a pain-in-the-ass baby brother who was okay to have around only some of the time. Blair had long since resigned himself to the fact that his dreams were impossible, improbable, and futile ... but he still dreamed. 

"Jim. Jim, wake up," he said quietly, gingerly nudging his partner, but to no avail. Judging from his headache and the sour taste in his mouth, Blair was starting to think they'd been gassed or drugged. Whatever had knocked them out, it wasn't going to loosen its grip on the Sentinel any time soon. "Figures," he muttered, breath hissing between his teeth as the floor gave a particularly enthusiastic roll. 

"Okay. This is not good." Time to threat-assess. They were in an unknown location, having been successfully abducted; Jim was unconscious, they were restrained, and Incacha had warned him their lives were in danger. 

_Business as usual, in other words,_ Blair thought with a tired mental smirk. 

Pushing himself away from Jim, he took a few deep breaths and started folding himself up, blessing yoga as he managed to get his feet within reach of his hands. Ignoring the little voice in his head that told him how stupid he must look in that position, he worked on the duct tape around his ankles until his feet were free, then maneuvered his cuffed hands under his ass and past his thighs. With luck, he wouldn't dislocate his shoulder trying to get his feet through ... yeah! Felt like he'd driven half a dozen splinters into his arms from the floor - deck - whatever - but he could live with that. 

He took a minute to appreciate having his hands in front of him, then stood, automatically adjusting to the rocking motion under his feet while his stomach gave an extra lurch or two. When he was sure he wasn't going to puke, he went back to Jim's side and checked his friend over again, reassuring himself that Jim was simply unconscious. He made a second inspection for weapons and found none, not that he'd expected it would be that easy. Even Jim's backup piece was gone, although the ankle holster was still.... 

Huh. Maybe it _could_ be that easy. 

Removing the holster, Blair was hard put to stifle a snicker when he thumbed apart the hidden seam beneath the velcro fastener, pulling out a lock-pick. 

"Yeah, buddy," he said, quietly satisfied, and picked open his handcuffs before removing Jim's, finishing up by unraveling the duct tape around Jim's ankles. Jim groaned and shifted a bit once freed, which Blair took as a positive sign even though Jim didn't seem to really come around. 

Soon, maybe. Soon enough? That was another question altogether. 

Blair pulled off his top shirt and balled it up, then stuck it under Jim's head before standing back up to search the room. His head still hurt and he thought he was about one large wave away from losing his stomach contents, but on the whole, he was feeling better. 

He tried the door first, as silently as possible. He wasn't surprised to find it securely locked. He considered kicking it open since it was hung to swing outward, but he didn't want to draw what was sure to be unwelcome attention to them while Jim was still unconscious, so he continued with his perimeter survey. 

It was hard to see into the corners, but it did look like they'd been locked up in some kind of pantry or storage room. Nothing about the room suggested disuse or neglect, which told Blair a few things right there. Shelves along one wall held a variety of cans and larger metal canisters that Blair figured contained staples like flour and sugar. The fronts of the shelves were partially enclosed with a barrier to keep items from sliding off. Had he ever considered it, Blair would have expected the storage areas in a boat to have construction like that, but as it was, he merely noted it and went on. 

There was a large case of bottled water in one corner, something Blair was grateful to discover. He helped himself to some, washing the sour taste out of his mouth, then went back to Jim, wetting his fingers and stroking the cool liquid over Jim's face. 

"Jim. Jim, wake up. Come on, man, you _really_ need to wake up now." One pass of his hand took his fingertips a little too close to those tempting lips, and Blair bit down on a moan as need sparked within him. How many times had he watched that mouth and longed to touch? Taste? 

Frustration had him clamping his fingers down on Jim's shoulder instead, giving his friend a firm shake. 

"Come on, damn it. We're in trouble here," and it took speed he didn't know he had to dodge the fist that Jim launched out of nowhere, as the Sentinel came awake cat-quick and deadly. 

"Man, you wake up mean," he complained, scooting back out of arm's reach. 

"Blair?" 

"No, it's the fucking tooth fairy. Shit." _Word of the day,_ Blair decided irritably, watching Jim sit up and mutter a few curses of his own as he rubbed at his temples. Jim still looked fourteen shades of too pale, and Blair was willing to bet he was also queasy. Recapping the bottle of water, Blair rolled it in Jim's direction, shaking his head when Jim sniffed at it before taking a small sip. 

"Where are we?" Jim finally asked, looking around without meeting Blair's eyes. 

"On a boat. That's about all I know," Blair reported, not surprised at Jim's subsequent grimace. "I don't know who has us, I don't know how we got here, and--" 

"Has us?" 

"Well, yeah. The handcuffs and duct tape kind of gave it away ... but, oh, that's right, you slept through that part." 

Jim spotted the handcuffs lying on the deck next to the unraveled strands of duct tape, and Blair saw his eyebrows go up. 

"You mean you- We were- Have you tried the door?" 

It took some self control to keep from saying 'well, duh!' but Blair manfully suppressed the impulse and settled for mentally rolling his eyes. 

"It's locked," he said shortly, and maybe some of that 'duh' tone leaked through, because he saw Jim's jaw muscle twitch in response. Relenting, Blair swallowed down his bad mood and offered a compliment. "It was a good thing you had that lock pick hidden in your ankle holster, or we'd still be cuffed." 

Jim gave him that tiny quirk of the mouth that passed sometimes for a smile, and finally, finally, looked him straight in the eyes. "Good thing you knew how to use it." 

And there it was, the reason Blair stayed, the reason he tortured himself with dreams of loving Jim every possible way there was to love for the rest of his natural life. There was warmth and approval and good humor and sheer magnetic _presence_ glowing in the depths of those pale blue eyes, fully focused on him for a long moment, re-igniting that flickering hope in Blair that one of these days - _someday_ \- Jim Ellison was going to climb down off the straight and narrow and let himself return Blair's feelings. 

But not today. 

Blair sighed silently as Jim cocked his head and listened, attention distracted. 

"Somebody's coming. One person, armed." 

"You hit 'em high and I'll hit 'em low," Blair whispered, grinning madly when Jim suppressed a chuckle. He grabbed up a 16-ounce can of tomato sauce just in case, balancing it in his throwing hand as he pressed up against the wall beside the door, Jim waiting panther-patient across from him. 

Unfortunately, however, neither had reckoned on the switch for the overhead light being outside the storage room. The sudden brilliance made Blair flinch and squint as he fought to adjust, barely able to see. The door opened and a man walked in, gun in hand already aiming in Jim's direction. 

"On the floor, Ellison! You and your little piece of ass!" 

Damn it to hell, that was the last straw. Blair Sandburg wasn't anybody's piece of ass, more's the pity, and he was pretty fucking tired of the bad guys assuming they didn't need to worry about him. With Zen precision, he reacted automatically and let that can of tomato sauce fly along the trajectory his hearing dictated, putting his whole body into in the throw. 

A nasty thunk announced success and the perp dropped like a stone. 

His eyesight normalizing, Blair proved that he really had paid attention during the academy classes he'd taken and kicked the gun out of reach, sending it in Jim's direction before scooping up a set of cuffs and slapping them on his unconscious victim's wrists. 

"Holy shit, Chief." Jim picked up the gun and blinked at him, an expression on that beautiful face that looked too much like astonishment to suit Blair, who caught himself grinding his teeth with fresh aggravation. 

"Word of the day, kemosabe. Now focus those Sentinel ears and tell me if anybody else is out there." 

Jim's face took on that faintly 'absent' expression that denoted his fierce attention to one of his senses, but it didn't take long for him to glance back at Blair and shake his head. 

"I don't hear anybody else." The perp picked that moment to groan, and Jim pushed him onto his back with one foot. "Look who it is." 

Up until then, it hadn't occurred to Blair to even care, but the man's face was familiar, even with the largish red lump that decorated his forehead. 

"Isn't that Harry Lovejoy? I thought the feds in Chicago got him after- Well. After." Blair sighed, kicking himself. At least he'd stopped talking before mentioning Veronica or Alan Archer by name. Suddenly, he remembered Jim telling Lovejoy 'Don't worry about him' when Lovejoy had asked who Blair was, and he couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him. 

"What's so funny, Sandburg?" Jim demanded, but Blair waved him off, quite sure Jim wouldn't appreciate the humor, since nothing about that particular case was very amusing to Jim. He'd been set up, played, suspended, and could have faced some very nasty charges ... not to mention having his heart broken, again. 

No, it wasn't funny at all, come to think on it, and Blair sobered quickly. 

"Shouldn't one of us go up and see about steering this thing? I'd hate to run into a cliff or something." 

"Yeah, that would be bad," Jim said wryly, but headed for the door. He hesitated and started to hand Blair the gun, but Blair held up one hand. 

"Nah, I've got plenty of canned goods. You keep it until you're sure nobody else is on board." 

Jim shook his head, but left without further argument. Blair took the opportunity to pat Lovejoy down, producing the handcuff keys as well as Lovejoy's holdout weapon, which he tucked into his own waistband. He put the other set of cuffs around Lovejoy's ankles, passing them through the wrist cuffs. By the time he was finished, Lovejoy looked like a hogtied calf, but Blair wasn't going to take any chances on the guy repeating his own maneuver and getting free. Granted, it wasn't exactly proper police procedure, but what the hell. As it had so often been pointed out to him, he wasn't a cop, and he figured he could get away with it. 

He retrieved another bottle of water, then sat down and made himself comfortable, back leaned up against the wall. A few minutes later, Lovejoy came around, grumbling and moaning. 

"Jesus fuck, what did you hit me with?" 

"Del Monte's finest." 

"Kid, you oughta be playin' for the Cubs," Lovejoy muttered, gaze fixing on Blair. "Guess I didn't exactly think this through, did I?" 

"Why? It's been over a year. Why didn't you just leave it alone? Leave _us_ alone?" 

"Alan's birthday was last week," Lovejoy pronounced like it was an explanation. 

Blair frowned. "I don't get it." 

"I got drunk, got mad, got jealous ... and wanted revenge." Lovejoy shrugged, an odd-looking little gesture given his current position. "I know you don't get it. Ellison will. Him and Alan used to fuck." 

Blair literally felt the blood drain out of his face as his mouth gaped open. Lovejoy snickered, not unkindly, and gave him a semi-sympathetic smirk. 

"You didn't know. You didn't know your buddy plays for both teams. I thought you and him-" 

"Shut up." 

"Hey, I ain't judging. Glass houses, and all. Alan and me-" 

"Shut _up!_ " Blair stood up and spun around, hiding his face, and after a moment Lovejoy sighed. 

"Look, kid, think about it for a minute. Alan drop-kicked Ellison out of his life when he married that poison bitch Veronica. Not because he thought Ellison would take her from him, but because he was scared she'd catch on and turn them in. Their careers would have been ruined, ya know. Alan always had a soft spot for Ellison--hell, he wanted to split that three mil-" 

"Will you _shut_ the fuck _up!_ " 

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Shutting up." 

Blair took some deep, cleansing breaths, letting this new knowledge simply flow through him and settle deep, like silt along a riverbed. Strangely enough, he didn't disbelieve Harry Lovejoy. That casually tossed off information filled too many holes, answered too many questions. Jim _had_ behaved in a most peculiar way during the entire Archer debacle, doing things for reasons that Blair hadn't understood. It wasn't much of a stretch to accept that Jim had had feelings for Alan as well as Veronica; feelings that had interfered with Jim's judgment. And it certainly explained why Veronica Archer had recruited Aldo and suddenly decided to whack her husband ... her tall, perfect, handsome husband, the man Blair could still see in his memory, wrapped up in Jim's arms as they held each other... 

"Shit," he whispered, then stomped it all down, because right now wasn't the time to ask himself why, if Jim liked men, Jim didn't _like_ him. 

Jim Ellison wasn't the only one who could repress things. 

* * *

"Shit." Jim rubbed his eyes. Blair was right. It was definitely the word of the day. 

He wondered how the hell Blair was going to feel about what Harry Lovejoy had just said. He wished he hadn't overheard their conversation; not Harry's diarrhea of the mouth nor Blair's total shut-down reaction, because it was going to be hard to pretend he hadn't heard it. Hard not to look at Blair; to see if his friend was looking back at him funny, with disappointment or pity, or worse. He didn't think Blair would have some kind of negative, homophobic reaction. That wasn't Blair, and that wasn't what he was worried about, anyway. 

He'd tried so hard to keep Blair from learning he was bisexual, because he was pretty sure if Blair ever realized how much Jim wanted him, he'd give himself to Jim just to make Jim happy. That's how Blair was, how Blair had been since ... since he'd died and Jim had called his spirit back. Jim didn't even think Blair was aware of how much he'd changed; how many times he gave in to what Jim wanted, how he let Jim treat him. Blair's press conference after the dissertation fiasco had been the last straw, and since then, Blair had changed his entire life's course. 

For Jim. 

Jim might not have seen it before, but he certainly saw it now - Blair Sandburg would do anything in the world for him. He couldn't bear the thought that Blair would sleep with him merely because _he_ wanted it. He had enough self-confidence to be sure he could make it a great experience for Blair, but that wasn't enough. It would never be enough, because what Jim wanted was more than sex. He didn't want Blair out of some sense of obligation, or duty, or a Sentinel thing, or simple physical attraction, but because he loved Blair - was _in love_ with Blair - and he wanted Blair to be in love with him. 

Hadn't that been a kick in the head for a stoic ex-Ranger who'd never particularly believed that kind of love was real? He'd fought against admitting it for months, damning himself for being an idiot. Romantic, passionate, 'til-death-do-us-part love was a myth; at least, that's what he'd thought before he discovered that's what he felt for his best friend. And while he knew Blair loved him, Blair didn't love him like _that_ , and his heart wouldn't settle for anything less. 

As long as that emotion was missing, something would be missing in him, too. 

He turned the boat - yacht, really - back towards Cascade, able to scent his city across the ocean breezes, then fished around for a cell phone, finding his and Blair's belongings in a pile near the wheel. 

Time to call Simon and arrange to have Lovejoy taken back into custody, damn him. 

* * *

It was the end of a very long day. To Jim and Blair's mutual surprise, Harry Lovejoy freely admitted having abducted them from Jim's own truck, which had been found on the side of the road near the loft and subsequently towed to the department garage where Forensics had uncovered a gas canister affixed to the underside of the seat. Simon and the rest of Major Crime had been frantically looking for them, alerted as soon as they'd failed to show up for work. 

Great relief was felt by all when Jim turned Lovejoy over to some uniforms at the dock and demonstrated that he and Blair were safe and sound. 

They'd declined medical attention, ridden back to the PD with Simon, showered and changed out of their damp, grimy clothes, then tried to make sense of what was left of their day. Lovejoy had declined to discuss his motive, merely saying, "It seemed like a good idea at the time." 

He'd confessed to nothing else while being charged and formally questioned, but later, when Jim had taken him down to lockup, Lovejoy looked at him and smirked. 

"You don't have to worry. I ain't saying anything official about you and Alan, or me and Alan, for that matter. But you got some explaining to do to your boy, Ellison .... so maybe this whole trip wasn't a waste of time, after all." Lovejoy's bluff good humor had faded then, as he'd let out a tired sigh at his cell door. He'd hesitated, and Jim had let him pause, feeling an unwilling degree of sympathy as the man kept talking. 

"It ain't worth nothing, but I'm sorry. I shoulda left you alone. Hell, I shoulda left the damn country when I finally slipped the feds. I just ... From Alan's birthday last week until your boy clocked me in the head with that can, I was ... insane, I guess. I miss him, you know?" 

"Yeah. I know." That much Jim did understand, remembering what it was like to have Alan Archer as a lover. He and Harry Lovejoy had given each other a one-shouldered, resigned shrug, and Lovejoy hadn't resisted when Jim locked him up. 

Now, he and Blair were on their way home, at last. Blair was unusually quiet, watching the road as if he were the one who was driving. Jim kept struggling to find words that wouldn't make this entire situation even worse, going so far as to occasionally open his mouth, but he just didn't know what to say. 

He hated not knowing which way Blair was going to jump. Hated it. 

Blair, for his part, was attempting to objectively examine the day's revelations, trying desperately to keep his emotions subdued. Jim had been with a man. A man like Jim himself, a peer; Special Ops, tall, muscular, clean cut, accomplished in both killing and keeping secrets. Something inside Blair cried at the notion that Alan Archer was Jim's 'type,' because he was never going to be any of those things. 

Sure, he had muscles. He'd worked hard for them, but he was never going to be as buff as Jim. Who was? And he was sure that in Jim's opinion, he didn't have the best track record when it came to keeping secrets. Then there was the rest of it.... 

No wonder Jim didn't want him. He'd often wondered if Jim even saw him as a man at all, or just as a kid, hanging on and begging for a bit of attention. Like a puppy. That thought made his insides cringe and twist cruelly, and he was heartily glad his stomach was empty. 

However, as Blair's nausea passed, he started to get angry, instead. What the fuck was wrong with him, anyway? Not a damned thing, that's what. So what if he wasn't as tall or as built as Alan Archer. He was pretty damned hot, all the same. Women _and_ men loved his hair, his eyes, his mouth; loved to stroke the hair on his chest - hair that _some_ people didn't have - loved the shape of his ass and the strength in his hands. He was smart, way smart, shit, he had a doctorate. Maybe he wasn't the wetwork-kill-'em-with-a-paperclip type, but he could defend himself. He'd saved their lives just today, hadn't he? And he was a shaman, a guide, given visions from the Great Beyond and the ability and intelligence to act on them. 

No, there wasn't anything wrong with him - except, there obviously was. Look how distant Jim's thoughts were. He was probably reminiscing about Alan Archer right now, with his mouth all soft and lips slightly parted like- 

_Shit._

Jim parked the truck in front of their building and Blair climbed out silently, wishing he was already in bed asleep. Dreaming. Jim was in his arms every night in his dreams, and Blair knew he'd go insane without them. 

They were in the loft before Jim finally worked up enough nerve to speak. 

"I, uh... I heard what Lovejoy said to you." 

Blair was genuinely taken aback. He hadn't thought Jim would admit to hearing that conversation. He'd already assumed it would be one more thing they'd sweep under the rug, like the spiritual side of the Sentinel experience. _He_ certainly didn't plan to tell Jim that he'd seen Incacha in a vision. Jim had already said he didn't want to go there, didn't want to take that trip, and hadn't Blair tried to respect that? 

Plopping down on the sofa, Blair stared at the floor, wondering how he should respond. _If_ he should respond. 

"It's okay," he eventually said. 

"Is it? You were upset," Jim said, taking the chair and kicking off his sneakers. 

Blair raised a mental eyebrow. He had to ask himself just when the body-swap had taken place. The shoe thing aside, it wasn't like Jim to actually want to discuss feelings. 

"I didn't want him talking shit about you, that's all," he finally offered. 

"Oh." Jim turned that over in his mind and found it didn't reassure him. Blair had been trying, once again, to protect him. Huh. "Thanks." 

"No problem." _End of discussion._ It could have been written over Blair's head in giant neon letters, it was that plain to Jim, but he couldn't leave it, not like this. 

"Blair-" 

"Look, Jim, it was none of his business. It's none of _my_ business," Blair announced with finality. 

"Oh." 

And what the fuck did that mean? Oh? Without seeing Jim's face, Blair had only his ears to rely upon, and he would have sworn that was a disappointed oh - an 'oh, but it _is_ your business' oh - an 'oh, you're wrong' oh. 

Well, hell. He trusted his ears, didn't he? 

Before Blair was quite aware of what he was doing, he was up and moving, brain stuck in that same primal working-on-automatic Zen headspace that had taken down Harry Lovejoy a few hours earlier. He noted rather distantly that he really should study that phenomenon, but by then he'd clamped both hands on the arms of Jim's chair and was staring into his Sentinel's face. Those beautiful blue eye were startled wide, but there was nothing in them that looked like any kind of denial. 

And God help him, he'd lost conscious control of his mouth, too; not for the first time in his life. 

"I think you want it to be my business. News flash, so do I. In fact, I think it had damned well better stop being anybody's business _but_ mine. If that's not what you want, you'd better tell me now." 

Not that he gave Jim a chance to respond, swooping in to capture those tempting lips with his own. 

Warm, softer than he'd expected, sweet. Dry, but he could fix that, and did, the tip of his tongue begging for more, and, yes... Opening, melting, parting to let him in, and this was Jim, he was kissing Jim he was kissing Jim and then Jim was kissing him, their tongues stroking and sucking and it was so good so good... Good Lord, _he_ was kissing _Jim,_ what was he doing? 

Blair jerked his head back, shocked to his soul by his own temerity. 

"Why are you doing this?" Jim asked in a hoarse whisper, and Blair, feeling entirely too undone to bother obfuscating, told him the truth. 

"Because I want to. Because I dream about it every night. I love you, and you should be mine, because nobody is ever going to love you the way I love you." 

"Yours? You _love_ me love me?" Jim asked next, watching Blair closely, hardly able to believe what his senses were reporting. Blair was telling the stone truth, scent and vital signs and galvanic skin responses all verifying those incredible words. His chest loosened, and it felt a little bit like hope, swelling out of its bounds. 

"Is that what you've been waiting for?" Blair asked, not sure himself where the words were coming from, but suddenly, confidently sure he was on to something. "Of course I love you, Jim. I've been in love with you for-fucking-ever, you big idiot." And with that pronouncement, Blair grabbed Jim's head in his hands and laid the kind of kiss on him that he'd been doing in his dreams for over four years; hot, wet, messy, and definitely possessive. 

Jim _felt_ possessed, bones turning to water, and all he could do was yield to that demanding mouth. Blair straddled him, bony knees pinching his hips where they squeezed between him and the inside arms of the chair, but Jim didn't care. Couldn't care about anything but being the focus of all that intense, sensual energy. Being tasted, savored, licked and thoroughly enjoyed. 

Blair's grip on his head softened, those strong hands sliding down to cup his face instead, and Jim let out an involuntary moan. As if it had been some signal Blair was waiting for, their lips parted and Blair was whispering against his mouth. 

"Touch me, Jim. I've wanted your hands on me for so long." 

Until then, Jim hadn't even realized his hands were still clamped to the chair. Permission to touch, finally, and he knew what he wanted to do first. He buried his hands in those wild curls and pulled Blair back into kissing, deep and needy, filling his senses. All his senses, at last, reporting in and fueling a swift rush of blood to his cock. 

He groaned, and Blair pressed against him, fingers curling around his neck and kneading a silent demand. Jim ran his hands along the arch of Blair's spine, until he could fill his palms with that lush, tight ass, and it was Blair's turn to groan, bucking against him ... and Blair was just as hard, just as ready as he was. 

Blair drew back, biting at Jim's lower lip. "I want you. Now. Forever. Exclusive. If that's not what you want-" 

"It's all I want," Jim confessed roughly, his pelvis rocking up into Blair's. He watched Blair's eyes close - with relief? - then pop open, the brilliant blue crowded out by those darkening pupils. "Now. Forever. Exclusive," Jim added, just so there would be no misunderstanding. 

"Good. That's- That's good." Blair sounded amazed. It made Jim smile. 

"Bed?" 

"Oh, yeah," Blair said enthusiastically, smiling back, the expression lighting his face and making him supernaturally beautiful, full mouth rosy and swollen, skin flushed, eyes clear and excited ... all framed in that tumbling mess of curls. 

Jim liked that look, and resolved to himself to put it there often. 

Blair moved off him slowly, with a lot of unnecessary rubbing, eventually standing and offering Jim a hand. Jim took it gladly and levered himself out of the chair, not too surprised to find his knees were weak. Blair led him past the stairs and towards his own little room, something that did surprise Jim. 

"Don't you-" 

"I want you in my bed," Blair said, hoping Jim wouldn't press him to explain why. He wasn't sure he could. There was the fact that he didn't want to make love to Jim in the same bed where Jim had fucked so many others - Veronica Archer among them - as well as his wish to see Jim, _have_ Jim in _his_ bed. It just felt right to Blair, felt like something he needed. 

Besides, his bed wasn't _that_ small; not too small for two motivated, flexible men who intended to be very close. 

Jim wasn't planning to argue. He crowded up against Blair from behind, burying his face in Blair's hair, groaning when Blair's ass briefly pushed back against his groin. Blair pulled away too quickly and they almost fell through the doorway. 

"Now," Blair ordered, managing some combination of tug, twist and shove that left Jim lying flat on his back on Blair's futon, looking up. Watching Blair strip, motions business-like and methodical, which shouldn't have been such a huge turn on except that Blair's fingers were trembling ... trembling with desire for him. The full effect of nude, needy Blair sent arousal slamming through Jim with such force that he gasped, his own hands shaking as they moved to his collar. 

"Let me do that," Blair said, taken aback at the rasp in his own voice. He knelt beside Jim, not entirely sure this was actually happening - Jim, spread out over his bed and willing, watching him with stunned, approving eyes. He needed to touch, and did, fingertips tracing the fine line of Jim's cheekbones, jaw and neck, delighting in the warmth of Jim's skin against his own, chilled with nerves. He opened Jim's shirt with deliberate care, stealing tiny brushstrokes of touch over satin smooth flesh, loving the way Jim's chest heaved in response. 

"So fucking perfect," he added, admiring Jim's flawless abs. 

Jim grabbed Blair's hands and drew them down to his fly. "Can we get on with the perfect fucking?" he asked, the constricting effect of his jeans rapidly becoming unbearable. Despite the intensity of the moment, he had to grin as his question forced an amused snort out of Blair. 

It occurred to Jim that he had it all, right here, love and passion and laughter and belonging. Everything he'd ever wanted, and while he wasn't sure he deserved it, he damned sure wasn't ever going to let it go, wasn't ever going to let _Blair_ go. He pulled Blair's hands to his mouth and kissed them. 

"I love you, Blair." 

Blair's eyes closed, and when they opened, they were tear-bright and shining. Jim realized it was the first time he'd said the words to Blair. Knowing what it had meant to him to hear them, he mentally kicked himself for not saying them sooner. 

Surging up, he grabbed Blair by the shoulders and flipped them over, so he was covering Blair, staring down into a startled face. 

"I'm going to love you for the rest of our lives," he whispered before lowering his mouth to Blair's, licking over the lush lips until they parted on a moan .... Oh, God, this was close to heaven, naked Blair in his arms, against his skin, on his tongue; scent filling his nose with the heady fragrance of Blair's arousal. He felt Blair's hands, stroking down his back, sliding under his belly to open his fly, and finally, finally maneuvering his jeans halfway down his thighs. Groaning at the marvelous sensation of skin on skin, Jim couldn't resist the automatic thrust of his cock against Blair's, his nerves lighting up when Blair writhed beneath him, trying to get even closer. 

Blair tore his mouth free and sucked in a gasp of air. Shit, he wasn't going to last. This was too good, too much, too powerful. Jim's mouth lowered to his neck, striking sparks that went directly to his balls. 

"Ah, God, Jim." Using one of the self-defense moves that Jim had been at such pains to teach him, he rolled Jim over, an action that succeeded only due to the element of surprise. Jim blinked up at him, but didn't protest, and Blair assumed Jim's senses had already announced just how close he'd been. "Too fast." He cupped one hand around Jim's face, thumb rubbing over that sculptured lower lip as their gazes locked. 

"It's going to sound sappy," he warned Jim seriously, "but I've been waiting all my life to make love to somebody I'm _in love_ with, and I don't want to rush." 

Jim gave a crooked half-smile, long fingers tucking Blair's hair behind his ear. 

"I'm okay with that. Don't let it get around, but I kinda like sappy," he admitted, willing to bank down the urgency of his desire. It was true. Jim had always known he was a closet romantic, happiest when he was with someone on whom he could lavish his attentions, a tendency that had led him into some questionable relationships in the past. 

He thought this time he'd gotten it right, judging from the smile Blair was wearing. 

Then Blair slid off the bed and finished removing his clothes. "What do you do?" Blair asked, and Jim grinned, amused by the incongruity of hearing that question from Blair. 

"With you? Everything, I hope." And damned if he hadn't apparently gotten it right once again, because Blair practically jumped on top of him, seizing his mouth in a hard kiss that set his entire body on fire, every nerve exploding in a blast of pure, raging hunger. 

Control spiraled away, and it didn't matter, because Blair was in complete control; strong hands and hot, wet mouth taking him where he needed to be, making him Blair's. 

Making him whole. 

* * *

Blair watched Jim sleep; an exhausted, sated sleep that he couldn't help but feel rather smug about. Equally sated and equally exhausted, he couldn't sleep; too afraid that if he did, he'd awaken to find this had been just one more dream. 

Because reality couldn't be this good, could it? 

He was busily pondering whether or not this would be considered a transcendental level of reality or a phenomenal level of reality when he realized Jim was awake. Those blue eyes were regarding him with fond exasperation. 

"You just can't turn it off, can you?" 

"Turn what off?" 

"Your brain, Sandburg. Come here," Jim ordered, and Blair abruptly found himself blanketed by acres of warm satin skin. Jim's teeth closed on his bottom lip, then a sly tongue lapped across the captured flesh before Jim released him. "Maybe I need to give you some-thing else to think about." 

Blair smiled. That was a threat he was happy to hear. "What do you think about the theory that dreams are an antecedent history of events that are beyond time and space, and come to us- Mmph!" A hand over his mouth halted his words, and Jim leaned in to murmur in his ear. 

"If you're asking me, do dreams come true, I'd have to say yes, they do, and if you don't mind, I'm going to satisfy a few more of mine." 

Jim scooted down his body, and Blair promptly decided that thinking was over-rated, and reality was just a matter of perception, anyway... 

...and shit, right now, his reality was perfect. 

* * *

End 

Defining Inaccurate Realities by Polly Bywater: pollyabywater@yahoo.com  
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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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